“It is simple enough to conclude that launching civilians into the stratosphere will accomplish nothing worthwhile,” said Andross, tapping air bubbles out of his syringe, “however, science demands experimentation.”
The hostages, ranging from wealthy socialites to street orphans, wept and pleaded for their lives. Andross motioned to his lizard assistants, who grabbed the nearest hostage: an older ape in a long white coat.
“Why are you doing this, my son?” asked the hostage, his voice somber and his eyes sad.
“For progress, Father.” Andross injected muscle relaxants into his father’s neck. “For progress. Take him to the launching tube.”
The lizards drug the limp ape away, and Andross returned to his work. He pulled shaded goggles over his eyes. He twisted some knobs. He pulled some levers. Computer monitors flashed all sorts of data, graphs, and bars.
“Firing Subject 1!” He slammed his fist onto a large red button. The presumably scientific data on the screen went wild as Andross’s father died horribly in the stratosphere.
“Hmm.” Andross removed his goggles and reviewed the data. “Data is inconclusive. Perhaps it will be different if the subject is left unsullied by drugs. Bring me Subject 2!” He leered at his secretary, a young, buxom tigress named Tigress.
“Please, Mr. Andross!” Tears streaked Tigress’s face. “I’ll do anything not to be launched into space!”
Andross’s grin widened to an impossible degree. “Anything?”
Tigress looked to the floor. “Anything.”
“So, then, you would even—” He lifted her from the floor. “—be launched into space to convince me not to launch you into space?”
Cackling with vile glee, Andross shoved Tigress into the launching chamber. She screamed and cried and begged, but Andross merely put his goggles back on.
“Apologies, my dear.” His finger hovered over the big red button. “It’s for science.”
Andross screamed as a red beam struck him in the hand. He fell to the floor, horrified at the sight of the bleeding stump at his wrist.
A heavy black boot stomped next to Andross’s head. The ape looked up to see none other than General Pepper looking down on him, smoking gun in hand.
“Class is over,” Pepper said. “Dick.”
“Kill him, my minions!” Andross cried. Lizardmen lunged at General Pepper, wholly unaware of their impending doom. The first had a hole blown in his face. The second’s entire skeletal structure shattered from a single punch. The next had his jaw torn off. The rest suffered similar grisly ends.
Just as Andross was finishing bandaging his wound, Pepper was already covered in blood and lizard parts.
“Andross.” He said the name like it was vomit. “I will see you exiled, or my name is not General Pepper.”
He grabbed Andross by the lapels of his lab coat. “And my name—” His glare showed through his sunglasses. “—most certainly is General Rutherford Phillip Pepper.”
He slammed Andross against the control console, knocking him out. He tore away the chains of the remaining hostages. He ripped the launch chamber’s door from its hinges.
Tigress clung to General Pepper’s leg, bawling into powerful thigh.
“It’s over, dear.” Pepper took a cherry lollipop from his pocket and tucked it beneath Tigress’s hand. He stuck a second one in his mouth. “It’s over.”
